Price of Intelligence
by DesertZerda8
Summary: Sherlock can see history repeating itself, as a new case brings up old insecurities.


The Price of Intelligence

By: Desert Zerda

"Why is there a there a severed hand, in a bucket of ice, sitting in the sink?" grimaced John Watson as he carefully maneuvered the bucket to the side of the sink so he could get water to make tea.

The expected response of "experiment" came from the living area right on cue, as John turned on the faucet and cautiously, so not to contaminate the tea pot, filled it with water.

John signed wearily as he moved the filled kettle onto the stove. After several months of living with the world's first Consulting Detective, Sherlock Holmes, John was getting use to finding miscellaneous body parts and fluids, along with a plethora of different poisons of various strengths around the house. Sherlock's experiments were now so much a part of his life that they no longer came as a surprise. He now tripled checked everything he ate that he, himself, did not make. Still, though John was getting use to the occasional head in the fridge, or in this case, severed arm in the sink, he felt the need to express his displeasure, in case Sherlock took his silence as encouragement to do even more experiments.

The shrill whistle of the tea kettle soon sounded, and John quickly removed the pot from the stove and poured two cups of tea. He made his way back into the living area, silently wondering how once again, he was the one making the tea, and wondered if tea making was considered another bit of useless information Sherlock had deleted from his memory.

John nearly groaned out loud when he saw Sherlock sprawled across his couch. The tall man's legs hung over the couch's arm, and Sherlock's left arm dangled off the side. He looked like a broken marionette that someone had tossed aside. His tailored clothes rumpled and his dark curly hair askew. It was a pose Sherlock only took when he had passed his "bored" stage and was well into his "extremely bored" state. Fortunately, it had yet to pass into the shooting at the wall phase.

"Bored," declared Sherlock not even looking at John, as the Doctor forced one of the steaming cups of tea into the detective's hand.

"You have plenty of experiments going on," commented John and he made his way over to the chair across the room. "The kitchen is filled with them."

Sherlock waved his free hand dismissively. "They will not be ready to examine for at least another 12 hours."

The dark haired man sat us as he took a sip of the hot liquid before proceeding to complain. "Lestrade has refused my assistance on his current cases. There is nothing on the news," he continued pointing towards the television that was now broadcasting tomorrow's weather - rain. "There is absolutely nothing interesting going on."

John's eyes quickly darted around the room, over the many stacks of books and newspaper clipping, looking for anything that may interest the younger man. A bored Sherlock was a dangerous Sherlock, and John did not want him to begin tearing their flat down to appease his need for entertainment. Mrs. Hudson was already asking almost double the rent this month, due to some of Sherlock's mishaps.

John opened him mouth to suggest getting out of the flat for a while, when Sherlock raised his hand for silence, and cocked his head to the side as if he were straining to hear something. John jaw quietly snapped shut, as he too strained to hear whatever had caught Sherlock's attention.

At first John heard nothing, and then he too caught the strange sound. He couldn't place it at first, but John forgave himself shortly there after, because who would expect, giggling - little girl giggling, to be happening down the hall from their flat.

John frowned before looking towards his flat mate. "Sherlock, what..."

He trailed off as Sherlock sprung from the couch and quickly made his way to their front door. As Sherlock opened the door, the giggling grew louder and whispering could be heard drifting up the stairs. John could also hear the insistent yet flustered tone of their landlady talking to someone below.

John pulled himself from the chair and followed Sherlock down the stairs to the entry way. Bemused, John watched as their landlady tried talking to four young girls, none of whom could have been older than 12-years-old. All of them in their matching school uniforms and rolling book bags behind them.

The two girls in front, a red head and a blonde, were talking with Mrs. Hudson. The blonde was showing her a piece of paper, while she talked quietly with the landlady. The girls in back were the ones giggling. For what reason, John wasn't quite sure, but then again, he didn't know if young girls needed a reason to giggle.

"Girls please," demanded the older woman. "It is not appropriate for you to be here by yourself. Where are your parents?"

The two girls in front whispered amongst themselves before the stocky red head noticed John and Sherlock coming down the stairs. She quickly side stepped Ms. Hudson, ignoring the older woman's protests, and asked, "Are either of you Sherlock Holmes?"

John caught Sherlock's smirk as he younger man descended the remaining stairs, coming abreast to Mrs. Hudson, as he arrogantly declared, "Yes, I am."

John shook his head slightly at the man's conceitedness as he too came further into the room. The ex-soldier noticed the sharp eyes of the detective sweep across all four girls, before quickly ignoring the two in the back, who were not only still giggling but were blushing as they looked at Sherlock. Sherlock soon focused on the two in the front. John wondering briefly what Sherlock was able to deduct from them, but those thoughts quickly passed as he was much more interested in why they were here and what did they want from Sherlock. It wasn't often that someone, other than the police or Sherlock's brother, Mycroft, came to their flat, especially not a bunch of prepubescent girls.

"Excellent," declared red head turning back to her blonde friend and giving her a pointed look.

"This is highly inappropriate," declared Mrs. Hudson fidgeting slightly as if she was unsure of the next course of action. John hid a smile. Though John did agree it was strange having four young girls looking for Sherlock, the fact that their landlady was so upset by this, yet not the chemistry set on the kitchen table or body parts scattered around their flat, was amusing.

"It is only inappropriate if you leave Mrs. Hudson," responded Sherlock smoothly, giving a charming smile towards the older woman. "Besides, we will stay right here in the foyer."

"Oh," hemmed Mrs. Hudson, "alright...just this once."

"Mr. Sherlock," the blonde said, when she realized she would not be getting kicked out. "I'm in need of your assistance." She brought forward the paper that she had been previously showing Mrs. Hudson, and John was surprised to see it was a print out of Sherlock's website.

"My name is Kimberly St. James, and your detective services are exactly what I need," she said looking directly at Sherlock as she stood up a little taller, as if she was trying not to look so small in the taller man's presence, a hopeless cause as Sherlock tended to dwarf everyone. John was surprised that she could keep eye contact with the younger man, as most people felt intimidated by his intelligent and often times calculating gaze.

"I have read about what you do," Kimberly continued, "how you look at some of the most obvious things that most people overlook and are able to deduce a great deal from it. I need you to do that for me...my dog has been stolen!"

"Ran away!" corrected the red head tossing her thick red hair from her face.

"Stolen!" insisted the blonde, glaring at the red head. The two girls behind the others, began giggling even more, as if enjoying the others fight. John wished they would stop, as they were beginning to give him a headache.

The red head rolled her green eyes, and sighed in exasperation. She moved closer to Sherlock leaning in as if to tell him a secret, before loudly whispering, "Her dog ran away and is now lost. There is a giant hole under the fence, where he obviously dug out, yet she still insists that the dog was stolen. She is..."

"The hole is too smooth to have been created by Diablo." interrupted Kimberly.

"Your dog digs holes ALL the time!" complained the red head in a superior voice, puffing herself up to look more important. "I don't know why you are so surprised that the dumb mutt got loose."

Kimberly didn't respond though John noticed her hands clench for just a moment. The young girl then took a deep breathe and focused again on Sherlock. John too looked at Sherlock and noticed a frown on that had settled on the man's face and quickly tried to the think of the best way to end this before Sherlock could hurt the girl's feelings. John knew Sherlock wouldn't mean to hurt her, but the young detective truly did not seem to understand that some of the things he said were offensive and he was often impatient and didn't like his time wasted. Finding someone's lost puppy was probably was on the top of his Waste of Time list.

"I'm terribly sorry about your dog, Miss St. James. Unfortunately, this is not they type of case we typically deal with," John said trying to be as diplomatic as possible.

All eyes, except for Sherlock's, flew towards him the moment he opened his mouth, and John frowned as he realized that everyone had forgotten he was even there. A few seconds later he wished they would go back to forgetting he was there as the two girls in back were now looking at him and blushing while giggling behind their hands.

John gave a strained smile as he refocused on the girl Kimberly, trying to give off the vibe of sympathetic but firm in his decision.

John had to resist the urge to squirm as intense blue eyes examined him, similarly to the way Sherlock did when he was using his deducting skills. The moment quickly passed as the girls face seemed to transform to one nearly identical to her red headed friend, haughty and superior, as if she was looking down his nose at him, even though John was quite a bit taller than her. "I can pay you very well for your services."

John's smile became forced at the tone in the girl's voice, yet he felt bad for the girl. The dog was obviously important to her, so much so, that she was looking for professional help to find it. John always tried to help children when he could, even obviously spoiled children. However, the detective work was all Sherlock, and Sherlock didn't solve cases for the victims, he solved cases for the challenge, and John couldn't see Sherlock finding a missing dog case interesting. There would not be any dead bodies.

Strengthening his resolve, John shook his head, and again said, "I'm really sorry..." His resolved shook as once again the girl's face transformed this time from haughty to pleading and slightly desperate. John closed his eyes steeling himself and continues, "but this is really not..."

"We will take the case," interrupted Sherlock.

John head whipped around towards his flat mate, but Sherlock was not looking at him. He was not looking at anyone. Instead he stared up at ceiling as if it would share all the world's secrets with him.

John rapidly blinked, trying to get his mind to wrap around this turn of events, but he still didn't understand why Sherlock would possibly take the case. John wondered if Sherlock had somehow deducted from one the girls' book bag that this was a case that would eventually lead to a serial killer, but quickly decided that could not be the case because Sherlock was not showing any excitement that he typically did when he was involved in an interesting case. He was not even showing the excitement, that was forcibly contained, when he did not want Scotland Yard to know just how thrilled he was to be invited to take part in their investigation.

What was worse, Sherlock's mouth was pinched and his brow slightly furrowed as if he was in pain. John was not only confused he was worried.

"Wonderful!" Kimberly exclaimed as she brought her book bag in front of her and scrounged around, finally pulling out a beat up horse folder and handed it to Sherlock. "This folder contains information about Diablo, my dog, as well as the address to my home and my phone number."

She quickly looked at both of Sherlock and John before requesting, "Please come as soon as possible. He has already been gone for 24 hours. Who knows what has happened to him in that time."

Kimberly quickly rushed the three other girls out of the house, as if she wanted to get out before they had changed their minds. Sherlock still did not move. His hand was tight on the folder, his fingers white.

"Sherlock?" questioned John coming directly in front of the younger man, trying to grab his attention. He had never seen Sherlock like this, and deep down it scared him. "Maybe we shouldn't do this..."

Before John could finish his sentence, Sherlock seemed to snap back into reality as if he had been in a trance. Piercing grey eyes met worried blue, and John watched as determination seemed to flood the stormy depths, and Sherlock declared, "None of that John, we have a dog to find!"


End file.
